The Sundered Veil
by Senvalox
Summary: When the Altmer noblewoman Luscelis finds herself in the undignified position of presenting her head to an executioner's axe, only one thought crosses her mind: "I bloody KNEW an arranged marriage was a horrid idea!" And with that, fate intervenes.


**Chapter 1**

"I'm sorry. I'll make sure your remains are returned to the Summerset Isle."

"_Excuse me?_" shrieked the raven-haired female Altmer. Even in cuffs, her tall figure loomed dauntingly over all the other occupants of Helgen. "Perhaps you did not hear me correctly. My name is Luscelis, and I was on my way to my arranged marriage when my stagecoach was attacked several miles from the border. My companions would be able to vouch for my identity. The only problem is that they have all been inconveniently slaughtered."

As regrettable as he looked, Hadvar was not moved by her story. "Follow the captain, prisoner."

Luscelis's golden eyes glittered in fury. Deciding that there was no getting through to this simple-minded oaf, she set her lips in a straight line and stomped over to join the "Stormcloak rebels," or whatever the stone-faced ruffians were calling themselves. Truth be told, she hadn't been briefed thoroughly on the state of Skyrim before departing her home in the Summerset Isle. The eagerness with which her immediate family sent her packing did not allot the time for a lesson on Nord politics and current events. Nor did they feel the need to warn her about the band of inbred, elf-hating mages in northern Cyrodiil (which was common knowledge to everyone but her) that just so happened to run into the one elf attempting to cross the border that day.

General Tullius began to address Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak, and she couldn't help taking a moment to consider the awkwardness of standing beside the fallen ruler. She had grown up hearing about the proud leaders of Skyrim, metaphorical giants ablaze with glory and stateliness. Seeing this one, bound and cuffed in front of his own people, was almost embarrassing to behold.

The one called Ralof sidestepped toward her. "Before we die, I want to apologize for getting you caught up in this," he whispered.

"Don't talk to me," she snarled. "I can't hear myself think." She had to devise a getaway—quickly. Unfortunately, Nords' skulls were as thick as the rumors described because Ralof kept talking.

"If I could, I would have made your visit to Skyrim more enjoyable and less… fatal," he continued in a low voice.

Her temper flared. Glaring down at him, she barked, "Is there a point to your incessant rambling?"

"Silence!" shouted the Imperial captain who was clearly on the verge of her menstrual cycle.

Luscelis opened her mouth to throw a spiteful insult at the other woman, but she was interrupted by an eerie vocal rumbling that echoed throughout the surrounding mountains. Everyone in the area paused to glance up at the skies.

"What was that?" mused Hadvar.

Tullius was the first to recover as he ordered the execution process to resume. Luscelis had to bite her tongue to keep from sarcastically praising his solid work ethic. The captain called forward a rather impatient Stormcloak soldier who roared at the Priestess of Arkay to skip the flowery words of irrelevant religious verses. In response, his head was effectively detached from his body with one swing of the executioner's axe. Luscelis gasped at the grisly sight as the remaining Stormcloaks cried curses at the Imperial officers.

"As fearless in death as he was in life," Ralof murmured sadly.

The reality of her imminent demise hit her like a ton of bricks. Swinging her intent gaze to him, she hissed, "You there, goateed one—"

"I am Ralof."

"I care not what your name is. Since you seem to have a big mouth, can you use it to convince these Imperial mongrels of my innocence?" she demanded. Anything to spare her from suffering the same degrading fate as the rest of these heathens.

But before he could answer, the captain yelled, "Next, the high elf!"

A rational individual would at least feel some degree of anxiety over their forthcoming death, especially if it was going to happen within the next minute. Luscelis, however, was affronted above all else by the whole affair.

"Barbarians!" she bellowed. "Savages, the lot of you! I've no idea what quarrel you humans have with each other, but it has nothing to do with me. This is how you treat foreign brides entering your country?"

The captain rolled her eyes and stepped forward to seize the Altmer's forearm and drag her to the chopping block. "Right, you and every yellow-skinned, pointy-eared elf from here to Cyrodiil were due for an arranged marriage. You can't prove it, you die." She shoved Luscelis to her knees in front of the block and pushed her head down onto the bloody surface.

Luscelis nearly gagged at the metallic scent of freshly spilled blood. It was still warm to her cheek, the lingering traces of faded life. She grit her teeth and looked sideways at the masked man wielding the enormous axe. His soulless eyes stared back down at her, snuffing out all hope of escape. She lowered her gaze and prepared herself, finding acceptance in the thought that even if she had made it to the meeting with her future husband, whoever he was, her fate would have been no different.

_I bloody KNEW an arranged marriage was a horrid idea!_

As the executioner raised the axe high over his head, and she exhaled for what she supposed was the last time, Tullius cried, "What in Oblivion is that?"

Her gaze snapped back up in time to witness a gigantic winged lizard land atop the nearby tower behind the executioner. A sonic boom erupted from its mouth, knocking all standing individuals off their feet. Luscelis's vision blurred at the earsplitting sound, and her sense of balance see-sawed in opposing directions as chaos erupted all around her.

She forced herself away from the block and stumbled to her right. Amidst the noise and pandemonium, she heard, "Hey, high elf! Get up! Come on, the gods won't give us another chance!"

Ralof was standing by her side, suddenly free from his cuffs. She blinked repeatedly as she dragged herself to her feet, still trying to clear her senses. He beckoned for her to follow him into another tower, and she lurched forward gracelessly to keep up. Adrenaline pumped through her veins and her breathing resonated in her ears as she dived through the doorway past Ralof. Once inside, her body began to readjust itself.

"Jarl Ulfric, what is that thing? Could the legends be true?" Ralof asked his liege.

Ulfric was also no longer in bonds. "Legends don't burn down villages."

"It was obviously a dragon, you fools," Luscelis managed to snap, still a little cross-eyed.

The Stormcloaks regarded her but didn't answer. Finally, Ralof mumbled, "Well, not all of us have lived for hundreds of years to make that claim..."

"What did you say to me, peasant?" Luscelis inquired in a voice dripping with venom. For someone who had just narrowly dodged certain death, she recovered rather quickly. "I am nowhere near 'hundreds of years' in age!"

Ulfric, restored to his leader status, gave the order for them to keep moving. Luscelis shifted her attention to him and studied his features clearly for the first time.

"Hmm. You are not as tall as I originally thought. Also, we appear to be wearing the same hairstyle," she said in deep dismay.

The jarl's expression flittered between offense and stunned amusement.

Ralof interrupted any further conversation by calling for her to follow him up the winding stone stairs. She did so, hands still cuffed together. "Wait, I need to free my hands. How did you all get out of your bonds so quickly, anyway?"

"No time, we must—"

The rest of his sentence was drowned out by the sound of the wall in front of them blasting open. The dragon poked its head inside and unleashed a torrent of fire that nearly singed Luscelis's eyebrows. After roasting a hapless unnamed Stormcloak soldier, it withdrew and flew away. Ralof led her to the large hole left behind and pointed downward.

"See the inn on the other side? Jump through the roof and keep going!" he instructed.

She scowled in outrage. "You can't be serious. I was two seconds away from getting decapitated, I am suffering possible permanent hearing loss because of that dreadful creature flying around in the sky, and I have your former comrade's blood smeared all over my face. I intend to wait right here until this calamity is over with."

And Ralof intended to not let her do that. "Go!" he shouted and pushed her forward. "We'll follow when we can!"

Luscelis screamed as she jumped at the last second to avoid plummeting straight down to even greater injury. Her clothed feet made contact with the floorboards inside the destroyed inn and she sprinted forward, only to fall through an opening that dropped down to the first floor. She landed and barrel rolled with all her bones intact but none of her dignity left.

_Bloody Oblivion_, she cursed inwardly. _The gods must hate me. There is no other explanation for this series of humiliating misfortune._

Picking herself up, she dashed outside and searched wildly for a way out of the town.

Helgen was in the middle of total annihilation. Flames consumed half the structures and people were scattered and running everywhere. She saw Hadvar directing one child to shelter before the dragon could barbeque him. Turning on her heel, she was about to run the other way, but Hadvar had spotted her tall form sticking out like a sore thumb.

"Still alive, prisoner? Keep close to me if you want to stay that way," he said, grabbing her elbow and steering her to a safer position.

Despite herself, she nearly laughed at the irony. "Surely you jest because in case your inferior human brain hasn't grasped it, _you recently sentenced me to death, you dim-witted brute!_"

"Well, things have changed, haven't they?" he asked grimly.

"Indeed, and yet some things have stayed the same. Such as your aggravating character," Luscelis growled.

The house next to them promptly burst into flame. "You can hate me later! Come on!" Hadvar cried. He released her elbow and charged through piles of rubble toward the other side of town.

Under different circumstances, Luscelis would have taken this opportunity to find her own way out, but the fact that a dragon was swooping down behind her changed her mind. She scampered after Hadvar, who was armed with a steel sword and the ability (she assumed) to use it. He led them on a route that weaved in and around the remains of several buildings and eventually past the Legion's disorganized line of defense.

"It's you and me, prisoner! Stay close!" he hollered.

"Just keep me from getting cooked and/or eaten and I will forgive your impudent, uncivilized ways," she panted, already tired from the physical exertion of running for her life.

As they entered a clearing, Ralof came jogging from the left.

"Ralof, you damned traitor! Out of my way!" Hadvar roared.

"We're escaping, Hadvar. You're not stopping us this time," Ralof shot back, shifting into a defensive stance.

Hadvar's lip curled. "Fine. I hope that dragon takes you all to Sovngarde."

"Gentlemen!" Luscelis cut in. "Are either of you going to assist me in escaping, or should I just flee by myself now?"

That set both men into motion. With one last exchange of furious glares, they ran to opposite ends of a reinforced keep that remained largely intact.

Ralof motioned to her. "You! Come on, into the keep!"

"With me, prisoner! Let's go!" Hadvar called urgently.

It was her turn to hesitate. Should she go with the rambling one or the simple-minded one? While she didn't particularly like either of them—the Stormcloaks were the reason she had been caught and arrested while crossing the border and the Legion had attempted to chop her head off—joining one of them was most likely her ticket to survival. After all, what could she do by herself in this frozen wasteland? Her guards and servants were dead. She knew no one in Skyrim, had no idea how to fight or defend herself. Without relying on one of these human cavemen, she had little chance of making it on her own.

She had to choose. But which one could she put up with the longest before deciding that being beheaded was the more desirable option after all?


End file.
